


Good Intentions

by AxisMage



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Slow Build, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxisMage/pseuds/AxisMage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Hayama wanted was to go one-on-one with Miyaji again. Honest. That was the one and only plan, but plans always change, and he doesn t think it s just his head wound making him see and feel weird things</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of a roleplaying game a friend and I had going on in Facebook with a friend. The whole thing was about an awkward encounter between Midorima and Takao and Hayama and Miyaji, how Miyaji had to end up playing matchmaker for the other two and that ended in a double date... where Hayama explained how he and Miyaji first met. This is that background story. :3 Karin, ojalá sea de tu agrado!

**Part 1: Expectations**

Miyaji didn’t look like Hayama remembered.  Sure, the guy was still lanky and blonde and had a deep frown on his cute face, but Hayama didn’t remember his eyes being as greenish as they were now. Neither did he remember Miyaji being shorter than him and with a buzz cut of straight hair instead of a mop of wavy one.

Nonetheless, Hayama believed the guy in front of him was Miyaji. He had to be, even though he looked different.

“Ah… Miyaji-san?” he said, and squeezed the basketball tighter between his hands.

The blonde´s frown deepened. He gave Hayama the once-over and leaned against the doorframe, blocking the entrance to the house behind him completely. “Yeah,” he replied in a voice the darker blonde didn’t recognize.

Hayama stared at him. “Are you really Miyaji-san?” he asked.

“What sort of stupid question is that? Of course I´m Miyaji. Who the hell are you? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

Nope, this wasn’t Miyaji at all. Not the one Hayama was looking for anyway.

“Do you, by any chance…?” he began, but he was cut off by a familiar voice calling, “Oi, Yuuya, what´s taking so long? Can´t you even answer the door by yourself? Sheesh.”

Hayama and the alleged Miyaji looked behind and into the house in time to see… _Miyaji_ walking to the front door with his trademark frown on his face.

The brown eyes Hayama remembered glared in Yuuya´s direction, then in Hayama´s. They widened upon seeing the Uncrowned King.

“Kiyoshi-nii?” Yuuya wondered.

Ah.

“Oh, so you _are_ Miyaji-san, but not the one I want,” Hayama told him with a smile.

Yuuya looked lost. “…Huh?”

“I mean, not that you´re not pretty or anything, but your brother…”

“Say one more word and I swear I´ll run you over!” Miyaji cried, stomped past Yuuya and out of the house. He fisted his hand in Hayama´s shirt and dragged him down the entry steps to the sidewalk.

“Close the damn door,” he ordered Yuuya, and gave him such a fiery glare the younger Miyaji closed it without a word and disappeared behind it.

Hayama glanced at the now empty space. “I had my doubts of him being you, Miyaji-san,” he informed. “I knew you were taller and cuter than him.”

Miyaji ignored the last bit. He released his grip on the youngster´s shirt and bore daggers into him. “What are you doing here, Hayama? More importantly, who the fuck gave you my home address? Didn’t you have enough texting me every single minute of the past three weeks?”

“Akashi gave both your address and phone number to me after his friend´s boyfriend found it out for him,” Hayama explained. He grinned in a boyish sort of way. “And no, Miyaji-san. I didn’t have enough just texting you, especially because you never returned any of my messages. You hurt my feelings, you know.”

“Like I care!” Miyaji crossed his arms. “What do you want?”

Now they were getting somewhere.

“Oh, I want you. I thought I´d made my intentions clear on the last messages I sent you,” Hayama replied with ease. He weighed the ball he held. “I want to play basketball with you again.”

“You have the other two creepy guys back at Rakuzan to play with, not to mention that stuck-up redheaded kid. What do you need me for?”

“It´s not the same, Miyaji-san.”

“Of course it isn’t! They´re Uncrowned Brats just like you, and that other evil kid is a Miracle. They make good opponents.”

Hayama found it interesting how Miyaji talked about Nebuya, Mibuchi and Akashi but didn’t even seem to remember Mayuzumi. He supposed it was due to his senior´s lack of presence, but it wasn’t like Miyaji couldn’t be compared to any of them. True, he wasn’t as good as his Rakuzan teammates…

“But playing with you is fun. It´s kind of a drag to play with Reo-nee or Ei-chan, and Akashi would kick my ass across the court in a hot second, and all the other guys who are willing to play with me give up after one game.”

“And what makes you think I´ll be any different?”

“I get the feeling you´re made of some stern stuff, and like I said, it´s fun to play with you.”

Miyaji looked at him like he was an idiot. “We played once, Hayama, and it was under some dire circumstances, at least for me.”

“Which is why we have to play again!” Hayama thrust the basketball forward. “Come on, Miyaji-san. I don’t come in from Kyoto very often so you better…”

“You don’t need to come at all.”

Olive green eyes blinked at the harsh remark. “Huh?” he said, and drew back the ball to hug it tight against his chest.

Miyaji glared at him. His lower lip stuck out in what Hayama would call a pout but knew if he did he _was_ going to get run over, so he kept the small detail to himself.

“I said, then don’t come into Tokyo at all,” Miyaji spit out. “I sure as hell don’t want to play with you so you can crush me again. Go back to Kyoto, stop texting me and don’t you show up on that door again. I´m busy trying to straighten out my future, anyway, and I don’t have time for brats like you. If you do come here again…” Miyaji´s cold brown eyes narrowed. “I won´t hesitate to run you over with a pickup, are we clear?”

Hayama stared at him, quite a bit surprised at such a serious and meaningful threat. Didn’t Miyaji like him even one little bit? Why was he being so damn cruel?

“Miyaji-san…”

“Goodbye, Hayama.” The elder gave him one last glare, then trotted up the few stairs, opened his front door and slammed it hard behind him.

The darker blonde groaned. “This is so unfair,” he moaned, and threw the basketball across the street… only to break a window on the building in front.

..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..

“Kotarou, are you going to eat that?”

Hayama moved only his eyes to see Nebuya at his side, eyeing and drooling over the _closed_ bento he had resting on his stomach. It was still wrapped _and_ untouched, but trust the loud gorilla to smell food from thousand miles away.

“No. Here, have it,” he muttered, and handed it over without a doubt.

Nebuya beamed, took the small box between his huge hands and almost ripped the cloth off. “It´s mostly meat,” he declared with satisfaction.

“Yeah. My mom knows I´m not into veggies,” Hayama replied in a distracted tone. He sighed, rolled onto his side on the grass where he was lying and curled into a ball.

From his spot in front of Nebuya´s hunched form and Hayama´s body, Mibuchi shot the latter a worried glance. He laid his chopsticks on top of his own lunch box. “Kotarou, I haven’t seen you eat anything since this morning,” he said, trying for subtleness.

“So? You haven’t eaten anything until now either, Reo-nee.”

“Well yes, but for the two years we´ve been studying here together I´ve always seen you snacking before class starts, between classes and downing your lunch in a matter of seconds. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah.”

Mibuchi frowned. “Are you sure? You´ve been acting gloomy and quiet and very unlike you since you came back from Tokyo.”

“That was three days ago, Kotarou,” Nebuya put in after a few seconds of silence. “Though if you keep giving me your lunches I don’t really mind.”

Mibuchi frowned at him. “Oh, you keep your thoughts to yourself. Can´t you see Kotarou is distressed?”

“Huh? Don´t be silly. Nothing ever distresses Kotarou.” Nebuya nudged the blonde´s back. “Right?

“Leave me alone, Ei-chan!” Hayama replied in a rather childish manner.

Mibuchi tsked at the both of them, then said, “What´s wrong, Kotarou? You were in high spirits Friday night. Did you have a bad time in Tokyo?”

Those words and the gentle tone was the reason Hayama thought of Mibuchi as a surrogate mother. Which friend and classmate would ask such a question, as if he were a kid who´d had a bad day at school?

So yeah, Hayama wasn’t eighteen yet and he´d had a shitty afternoon in Tokyo. Still, there was no resemblance whatsoever between the situations. There just wasn’t.

But if there wasn’t, why did he fight the urge to turn around and crawl onto the blackhead´s lap?

“Miyaji-san doesn’t want to see me,” he grumbled in the end.

Mibuchi looked confused for a couple of seconds, then he pursed his lips. “The Shuutoku player you wanted to play with? The one you couldn’t stop talking about?”

“Mmm.”

“Well, not to be mean to you or anything, but I did warn you about the way things could go if you went to visit him.”

“But I only wanted to go one-on-one with him again. He didn’t have to be so harsh with me, telling me to never show up in Tokyo again and saying he was too busy to pay me any mind anyway.”

Ah.

“And… you´re hurt?”

“Of course I am! I was so looking forward to playing and being with him at least a couple of hours.”

Mibuchi thought about to say next. By the look of things, this Miyaji person had rejected Hayama. It hadn’t been in a romantic kind of way. However, Hayama was acting as if it had.

“Don’t act like it´s all over,” he said, and gave Hayama´s legs some affectionate pats. “So maybe he rejected you once, but we´ve learned from Sei-chan and his friends how grouchy and difficult that boy can be. All you have to do is try to convince him again.”

“Miyaji-san was final, you know.”

The blackhead hummed. “And since when do you give up so easily? You´re made of sterner stuff, Kotarou.”

Hayama froze, then gave Mibuchi a sidelong glance. “You don’t believe what you´re saying.”

“What I believe –or used to believe– is that you fight for what you want. If you want to go out with… er, play basketball with him, then you should go ask him one more time. You´re annoying. He´ll give in at one point or another.”

Hayama bit his lower lip.

“Summer vacation is only a week away. Why don’t you spend that time in Tokyo? You´ll be closer to your boy that way. You´ll get to play with him eventually,” Mibuchi went on.

The blonde´s expression turned thoughtful. “Maybe I will. I haven´t been to my grandma´s in years. She won´t mind if I stay with here this summer,” he murmured, got to his feet. He then walked away with both hands placed behind his head.

Mibuchi watched him go. After the small forward´s figure had disappeared, he plucked a piece of carrot out of his bento with his chopsticks.

“You love giving him honeyed, crappy and useless lectures, don’t you?” Nebuya muttered between mouthfuls.

“Keep eating, Eikichi,” was all Mibuchi responded with a small smile.

..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..

Hayama hadn’t spent a summer in Tokyo in over ten years. His father had been transferred to Kyoto after he´d turned six. All the family had gone with him leaving both sets of grandparents behind. Both his grandfathers had died a couple of years after they´d left. His maternal grandmother had passed away when he was thirteen. Hayama Yuki was his oldest living relative now. Even though she was in her late seventies, she was still an active and cheerful lady.

She also lived alone in the Tokyo suburbs, about four or five miles away from the Miyaji residence.

Hayama couldn’t believe his luck.

His parents had been suspicious when he first told them where he was spending his vacation. After some lectures and a warning that if he did anything illegal while he was unsupervised –he had to face it: being with his elderly grandma would be like being alone– they would not bail him out of jail, or the juvenile correctional center for that matter, he was free to go.

One day after school had ended, Hayama was already in Tokyo. His grandma had been more than elated when he told her he was spending summer vacation with her. She´d received him with a big hug and a kiss when he arrived, then told him to let himself in because she was late to her weekly mahjong game with her friends.

After accommodating his luggage, Hayama grabbed a cookie from the kitchen, his skateboard, and went out to look around the neighborhood. He didn’t plan on going over to Miyaji´s today. He could wait at least a couple of days while he readied his mind and body for war. He just had the feeling talking to Miyaji would be a battle; he had to be prepared.

“Prepare yourself, Kotarou!” he yelled, and without slowing down in his skateboard, he slapped his own cheeks. Half the people on the street turned to look at him, but he didn’t pay them any mind.

He rolled and slid around the neighborhood for about an hour. He managed to find a basketball court, two bars, one candy store, an onsen and two grocery stores. He skated past the second store without so much as a glance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two figures standing inside. The taller one caught his attention due to the weird hair color.

Hayama didn’t have to think it twice. He reeled back, got down from his skateboard and tucked it under one arm before he went into the store.

“Hey!” he called cheerfully.

Two heads turned. Midorima stopped arguing with a chuckling Takao over which brand of cigarettes he should buy and frowned at him. He didn’t utter a word.

The blonde tilted his head to the side, stared at the two boxes the greenhead held in his hands. “Not that it´s any of my business, _but_ … aren’t you kind of young to be smoking?”

Midorima´s immediate reply was a glower.

Takao snickered. “He is, isn’t he? I´ve been telling him the very same thing for months but he just won´t quit. Shin-chan develops obsessive behavior faster than what I thought was possible,” he said.

“Oh no, no, no. Midorima, you can´t smoke and then end up with lung cancer! It´d be such a waste of life.” Hayama tsked, stepped forward to take the boxes. “Besides, you´re an athlete. You´ll lose stamina,” he added.

Midorima kept on glowering. “I am not a smoker. Do not believe what Takao said, and I am perfectly aware of what tobacco does to the lungs,” he grumbled.

Hayama merely shook the packets.

“Those are supposed to be today´s lucky items, nothing more!”

“Lucky what?”

Takao gave another snicker. The greenhead pushed his glasses up his nose. “Never mind. Give them back.” He held out a taped hand.

Hayama glanced at the hand, back at the packets. He clutched them to his chest.

“I´ll give them back if you promise not to smoke them,” he said.

“Who do you think I am?! Who do you think you are?! I don’t have time to…”

“Because if you don’t, I´ll tell Akashi I saw you buying cigarettes and possibly smoking. He won´t be very thrilled about it.”

Midorima seemed to freeze. His eyes narrowed. Even Takao adopted a serious expression. After a minute of silence and lots of inner debate the former muttered, “You have my word. I will not smoke. Now hand them over.”

Hayama sunk one of his pointy teeth into his lower lip. “One more thing,” he said.

Midorima looked exasperated. “What?”

“Do you know where Miyaji-san is? I´ll give them back as soon as you tell me that.”

“No. I have no idea. Now hand over the darn…”

The blonde brushed Midorima off and turned to Takao, who pursed his lips. “You were serious about wanting to date Miyaji-san?” he asked.

Hayama tilted his head to the side, confused. “Date? I don’t want to date him.”

“But you pestered Akashi, who in turn pestered Shin-chan and thus me about getting your hands on him. I mean, if it wasn’t because of Akashi breathing down Shin-chan´s neck and him panicking, I wouldn’t have dared ask for Miyaji-san phone number and address,” Takao said.

“I wasn’t panicking!” Midorima spoke up, offended.

Takao ignored him. Hayama giggled.

“So? Hayama-kun?” the blackhead prompted.

Hayama blinked, then shrugged. “Yeah, I kept asking Akashi to get his number and address for me, but that’s only because I want to play basketball with him again. I really enjoyed what went on at the Winter Cup, and I want to do it again.”

“Nonsense. You did not go one-on-one for more than a couple of minutes. There is nothing to relive,” Midorima said.

“Hey, don’t be such a buzzkill. I know what I felt, and I want to experience it again. I want to play with Miyaji-san. There´s nothing more to it.”

Takao stared at him as if he was insane. Midorima looked at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. Geez, between the both of them they could almost mimic Mayuzumi´s glares.

“Is there… a problem?” he asked, shifting from one foot to the other.

Midorima harrumphed, adjusted his glasses again. Takao´s face slowly broke out into a smile.

“That´s the spirit, Hayama-kun, and trust me, with Miyaji-san you´ll need it,” he began with a chuckle. “As you probably know already, he´s difficult.”

“Which is what makes this all much more fun,” the blonde answered with a toothy grin.

Takao´s expression was half-amazement and half-resignation. “You were saying you were looking for Miyaji-san?”

“Yes.”

“He´s working at the Kimura Grocery Store this summer. Kimura-senpai´s father owns it, and both Kimura-san and Miyaji-san are helping out until they begin university.”

Midorima froze, then frowned at Takao. “Should you really be telling him that? If Miyaji-san finds out you were the one who told him…”

“Relax, Shin-chan. Maybe by the time he finds out he won´t be as bad as he is now.” Takao nodded in Hayama´s direction. “Maybe a _game or two_ with Hayama-kun here will loosen him up. Sounds fun, huh?”

Green eyes flew wide. “You can´t possibly…”

“The Kimuras´ store is five blocks from here. You walk down three, then turn right and walk two. It´s right in the corner. You can´t miss it,” Takao went on, ignoring Midorima. “He´s working the morning shifts all week long, so he should be there now.”

Hayama´s expression brightened up like a kid on Christmas morning. He fought the urge to pounce on Takao and give him a quick and brotherly hug.

“Thanks a lot! I´m off to seeing him now,” he announced, turned around and dashed out of the store…

Only to return right away, wearing a sheepish expression.

“I, uh, forgot to give you this,” he said, handed Midorima the cigarette packets.

“Remember your promise, or I´ll sic Akashi on you!” he cried as he ran out again, already letting his skateboard fall to the ground.

..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..

Okay, so maybe carrying the three boxes full of carrots at the same time hadn’t been the best idea he´d had on that day. Maybe he should have listened to Kimura saying to take it slow; they weren’t in a rush. Also, it wasn’t like Miyaji was as sturdy or bulky as Kimura, who was only carrying two anyway… and he was struggling with them.

Miyaji was dying under the weight of his three boxes. Not that he´d let anyone know what was going on with him, of course.

“You really should…” Kimura tried for the umpteenth time.

“I´m fine,” the blonde snapped in a breathless tone. He took a couple of shaking steps forward as sweat slid down his forehead and back. He was almost inside the store, damn it. A few more steps and he would be done with these. Just a few more steps and this would all be over. He could count to stay focused and ignore the crushing weight in his arms. Yes, yes, he was more than capable of doing this. He better…

“Miyaji-san!”

The blonde´s head snapped up at his name being called, a frown marring his skin immediately. He knew that voice.

“Hayama,” he whispered, and as he saw the man in question barreling down the street in a skateboard going straight for him he found enough energy within him to screech, “Slow down you big idiot!”

Hayama didn’t top, nor did he slow down. He kept coming at full speed right at him… and what the hell was he trying to do?! Run him over while he had the boxes in his hands?

Goddamn irony.

Miyaji gritted his teeth, then took another tentative step forward. He figured not even Hayama would be stupid enough to crash into him and send the carrots flying across the street. Therefore, he was going to ignore the younger man until he had managed to get the vegetables inside, then storm back out and hit him upside the head for appearing out of nowhere.

To his complete and utter dismay, as soon as he took the one step, his knees buckled under the weight of the boxes, and hell broke loose. It couldn’t have been more than two seconds, but Miyaji saw it all crystal clear, and almost in slow motion.

“Miyaji!” Kimura cried, just as Hayama did the same at the top of his lungs and half-stepped half-stumbled off his skateboard, reaching a hand out to him.

“No!” Miyaji hissed moving his body and thus the boxes sideways seeing how Hayama was about to hit his head on them. He thought they were both safe, but then fingers grabbed his shirt, and he saw a blonde head hit the ground before a half empty crushed him.

Miyaji went cold.

He didn’t even notice his own body hitting the ground, his wrist touching the concrete first and then bending at an impossible angle. He didn’t notice the carrots that fell on top of his head nor did he feel the paint that shot up his spine.

All he thought was Hayama could possibly be dead and it would be his fault.

He scrambled to his feet, dropped to his knees a second later next to Hayama´s body. He shoved the box off the blonde, ran his hand through the short yellow strands as he shouted, “Oi, Hayama! Hayama! Are you okay? _Oi!_ Can you hear me? _Hayama!_ ”

He tried to feel Hayama´s head with both hands, but his right one wasn’t working. It was still bent, and it was starting to hurt bad. Had he broken his wrist? Did it even matter? The stupid brat…

The stupid and crazy brat had cracked his hard head open, Miyaji realized, staring at the blood in his hand and also at what was seeping out of Hayama´s head.

“Oh shit,” he breathed.

“Miyaji, listen to me!”

He turned his head to find Kimura next to him, looking rather dazed.

“This kid cracked his freaking head open like a melon,” he said.

Kimura paled, then he looked down at Hayama, who stirred. “He´s waking up,” the blackhead said.

Miyaji looked as well. When he saw Hayama´s eyes flutter, he almost hit him on the head again.

“You idiot! What the hell were you thinking?” he exclaimed instead.

The other blonde groaned his reply, then blinked. “Miyaji-san?” he murmured, and tried to stand up.

Miyaji placed his hand on his chest to keep him from rising. “Stay the hell down. You hurt your head.”

Hayama uttered a confused sound, his eyes skimming over Miyaji´s pale face down to his shaking arm… and his obviously broken wrist.

“But you…” he began as he tried to rise again.

“Down,” Miyaji commanded.

“Your wrist…”

“You´re bleeding. Shut up.”

“It´s broken…”

“Whatever. It doesn’t hurt.”

“You´re all sweaty and…”

“I´m fine. I´m not bleeding to death.”

“Miyaji-san…”

Miyaji glowered at him, grabbed Hayama´s chin between his fingers. “Stop talking and listen to me. We´re going to call an ambulance or something to take you to the hospital. Until then, be a good brat for once and follow some orders.” After a few seconds of hesitating he added, “Do as your told and we´ll go one-on-one if that´s what you want. Deal?”

Brown eyes stared into olive green. Hayama´s mouth went slack, and his expression turned goofy, awestruck, tender all at once.

Miyaji frowned. “Deal?” he repeated.

“Deal,” Hayama echoed, his gaze never wavering from what he now thought were the most beautiful eyes he´d ever seen. He was so enraptured he didn’t even bother pointing out there was no way Miyaji could play basketball with his broken wrist.

..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..-'¨'-..

The doctor had screamed nonstop about how he shouldn’t get out of bed, how he had to rest, take naps, take medicine and not move around much. Hayama´s wound had needed six stitches to close, plus he´d had some bandages put around his middle, given the mean bruises the fall and the impact from the carrot-filled box. His head was also bandaged and even though he was feeling a bit woozy, he couldn’t stay in his hospital room.

He had to see how Miyaji-san was doing.

Now, Hayama wasn’t feeling guilty about causing both of them to fall nor was he mad he´d ended up with a stitched head because of Miyaji-san´s stubbornness. Kimura-san had told him the story of the boxes, after all. No. Hayama was worried about Miyaji´s well-being because… because… he didn’t even finish the thought. It was too embarrassing.

He didn’t believe in love at first sight. He knew he wasn’t as smart as most people, but he wasn’t stupid, or naïve for that matter. He did believe in stuff like love and relationships and those silly things. He knew he would one day fall in love as well. He just hadn’t thought it would happen so soon.

Not that he was in love with Miyaji-san or anything. He barely knew the guy and all he´d wanted to do was play another game with him. So maybe his heart had melted a bit at how Miyaji had ignored his own wounds to treat his head, how he´d been… caring in a rude sort of way, how he´d followed him into the hospital with a worried frown on hi cute face and how he´d refused to get treatment for his hand until a doctor was already stitching Hayama´s head.

So maybe Hayama had thought he looked cute all worried and grumpy and sweaty. He had liked the way the elder´s fingers felt on his skin, how he´d been adamant about treating him first. He´d also realized Miyaji had beautiful brown eyes, which held gold specks if one looked close enough.

All that didn’t mean he was falling in love fast, much less that he was already in love. Feelings just didn’t work that way, or so he believed.

Nonetheless, there Hayama was, walking down the ER looking for Miyaji with Kimura trailing behind. Miyaji had insisted someone stay with Hayama in case he passed out or began wailing at the sight of the needle.

“I don’t see him,” he complained to the blackhead, stopping in the middle of the room and glancing around. His head spun, and he pressed a hand to his forehead.

You should really lie down,” Kimura said.

“After I make sure Miyaji-san is okay,” he replied.

Kimura opened his mouth to protest, but before he could do it Hayama spotted Miyaji sitting on the corner of a bed, and he ran off as fast as his spinning head let him.

“Miyaji-san!” he greeted cheerfully as soon as he was next to the other blonde, who almost jumped out of his skin, then his mouth dropped to the floor.

“You,” Miyaji hissed. “What the hell are you doing here? You should be resting. Kimura!”

“He slipped through the doctor´s hands and almost ran down here. He wanted to make sure you´re okay.”

Miyaji waved his broken wrist – now put in a case of course – in the air. “I´m fine, but this kid must have a concussion or something. He can´t be moving around.”

“I´m fine,” Hayama lied.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Hayama. You´re not fine. You´re paper white, and look like you´ll faint any moment now. Go back to your room.”

“But I came to check on you.”

Miyaji huffed, held out his arm. “I am okay. It´s broken, but it´ll heal and it´s not as bad as a head wound.”

Hayama´s insides almost turned at the selflessness with which the other man acted. He was in pain, it was obvious, and yet he still looked after Hayama. It was touching.

“Thank you for looking after me,” he found himself saying.

Miyaji rolled his eyes. “You´re an annoying little thing, but nobody would want you dead. And you owe me several apologies. If you hadn’t been stalking me, we wouldn’t be here in the very first place.” He actually _pouted_.

It was the most adorable thing Hayama had ever seen.

He felt a rather dumb smile curve his lips, felt his gaze soften. “You are absolutely right. I owe you an apology,” he said.

“Damn straight you do. And you´ll pay for this cast and everything else too.”

He nodded. “I will, but I don’t think an apology is enough.”

“You can get down on your knees and ask for forgiveness if you want,” Miyaji offered.

Hayama laughed. “Akashi once said the same thing, but Reo-nee told me not to do such a humiliating thing, not even for his dear Sei-chan.” He clasped his hands together, grinned.

“I´d offer to apologize by playing against you, but with your broken wrist you won´t be able to play for a while.”

Miyaji´s pretty brown eyes narrowed. “So?”

“So how about we go to see a movie one of these days? I´ll pay for the tickets and all the food you want to eat, of course.”

Kimura behind him almost choked on disbelief. Miyaji´s mouth was on the floor, and he looked amazed. All Hayama did was congratulate himself on how smooth – in his opinion – he´d been.

“What the… what?” Miyaji croaked after a couple of seconds.

“Go out with me. I´ll make it up to you,” Hayama simplified.

“Told you this would happen sooner or later,” Kimura scoffed. “This was never about a basketball game to begin with.”

“Oh, it was,” Hayama assured him with a slow and dizzy nod. “But not anymore. I think I like you, Miyaji-san… a lot. What do you say?”

Before the older blonde could answer, two nurses came up to them and glared at Hayama.

“You have to lie down. Now. We´ll drag you back unconscious if we have to,” one of them said, a syringe already on her hand.

Hayama frozen, then gave a nervous smile. “Now, now, there is no need to be so…”

“On your own feet or unconscious in a wheelchair. Your choice, Hayama-kun.”

Hayama glanced at Miyaji out of the corner of his eye. He worried his bottom lip with his pointy tooth.

“So, what do you say?” he asked, then thought about it and added, “If you say no I´m going to run out of here, fresh wound and all. I hate hospitals anyway.”

Miyaji went a little pale, probably because he knew Hayama would do exactly as he said.

“I already said yes to the game. That´s enough,” he said.

“Not for me.”

“Then run out of here and do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“Don’t you?” Hayama raised an eyebrow, looked at the ER entrance. His eyes flashed with some wild and reckless thought.

Miyaji almost let him go. Almost. What made him open his big mouth to talk he didn’t know. Yet he said, “I hate you so much, Hayama, so freaking much… you better not bitch when I ask for the biggest popcorn thingy and soda.”

“Is that a yes!” It wasn’t really a question.

Miyaji kicked himself internally. “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Awesome!” Faster than the human eye could track, Hayama bent down, tilted Miyaji´s face upwards with his fingertips on his chin and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. It was quick, unexpected, chaste, and it was over before anyone could really process what was going on.

“I´ll text you later to figure out the details,” Hayama called in a cheerful tone over his shoulder as he let the nurses guide him out of the ER. He threw Miyaji a smile, who only shot him a killer glare, then aimed it at Kimura.

“Not. One. Word,” he muttered to his friend.

Kimura tried to hold it in, he really did, but ended up roaring up with laughter anyway. “You and Rakuzan´s Hayama Kotarou have a date. Oh, this is priceless.”

“If you tell Ootsubo anything about this I swear I´ll run you over with your own pickup!”

Kimura laughed even harder. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don´t know why I can´t put the chapter thing as 1/2, but this will be a two shot, and the next part will be up soon! :3


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